The least important aspect of this whole festivals thing as far as I’m concerned, is the length of time it takes me to do it. I put it at a year because that gives it a competitive edge. It makes it a challenge, and for publishers and what-have-you, I imagine it seems much more commercially viable. But in reality, and within reason, I don’t really care how long it takes. I’ve got nothing but time really. Time and desire. That’s all I need. Time, desire and this Slanket. That’s all I need.
A few days ago, someone on Twitter made a suggestion. Here it is here:
They’re an awful lot of hassle, and actually not that much fun once you’re up in the air. Plus of course, aeroplanes are the evil ones that kill all the flowers and tapir cubs and baby voles and whatnot. So I began to think, what if I took my time and chose cheaper, less environmentally disastrous and more enjoyable modes of transport? Then I remembered that sadly, tragically, trains are not always the cheap option these days. But still, my point remains. I don’t like planes. I like trains.
And of course, it is my thing, this festivals thing. Ultimately I can do whatever I like. And if I fail in some way, or indeed many ways, to do what I originally planned to do, then who cares? As long as there are interesting and fun adventures along the way. As long as there’s something worth writing about.
Not that I’m changing anything, at the moment. Just having thoughts. Which I think is good. It’s essential that I’m open and flexible, like a femidom, and not closed and rigid, like a nun.
In other news:
- my self-promotional video has been emailed to me – but it still needs finishing and sending off to interested parties.
- my website is up and running – but I haven’t yet made the time to make it look nice.
- I have a countdown clock – you may have noticed it, up there to the right, counting down. Or maybe you thought, ‘Wow, look at that strange clock. I can’t tell what time it is. It seems to be counting down. I wonder what it is.’ It’s a countdown clock. It’s counting down.
- I have more or less finished a 30,000-word story about a man and his father, and Twitter, at Christmas – which I’m thinking of serialising over the coming weeks, like a kind of a low-rent Dickens – but I’m scared. What a mouse I am.
- I am dedicating this week primarily to the rewrite of the novel – I’m currently 134 pages in and I have to say, thus far, I really like it.
That’s it. Now I must get on. But, having written this, I’ve just been reminded: life is exciting, and whatever happens, thank God I quit that job.